


Sylvain’s Dark Hour

by Despondent_Sigur



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Depression, Gen, Heavy Angst, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Physical Abuse, Post-Time Skip, Sad Ending, Suicidal Thoughts, Sylvain is so messed up, Verbal Abuse, no beta we die like Glenn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-15
Updated: 2019-10-15
Packaged: 2020-12-16 18:56:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21041117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Despondent_Sigur/pseuds/Despondent_Sigur
Summary: It's late at night, Sylvain is back from one of his many love affairs, but memories of his death brother Miklan ruin his mood, spiralling down.





	Sylvain’s Dark Hour

**Author's Note:**

> Wrote 1/3 of this under a fever and "Blasphemous Rumours" on repeat, the other 2/3 came out after a while, but I couldn't stop typing

**Sylvain’s Dark Hour**

The moon light was dim, the streets quiet, all the people with spotless morale were save, sound and asleep locked up at their homes. All the pure maidens with ethereal bodies, were well tuck in bed dressed in white nightgowns, dreaming of brave knights, gallant knights, knights of the most respectable morale courting them, showering them in flowers with delicate romantic meanings, holding their hands like one would hold crystal tinted spheres, proclaiming their love and devotion to their only one maiden, present her the valiant heart of a hero, beating just for her, beholding them above any virtue, the fair maiden of the courageous noble man. Alas, that upright knight wasn’t Sylvain, long lost dream that could never be.

Another night, another faceless conquest, Sylvain stepped out of the shadows straightening his shirt, buttoning up his sleeves, his boots loose, his red hair in disarray but he couldn’t care less. He was thankful his armour had stayed back at his room, he considered wearing it, as he looked more gallant and handsome in thick dark armour, but was always a chore to remove it, particularly in the heat of the moment, hands frantic, wet kisses and needs to be resolve. No, the dashing armour could stay back. Tonight, was a good night, he chanted inwardly for the fifth time, he always did, it was his way to keep his mood high, the adrenaline rushing, his heart racing, the passionate scenes still pulsing. After all what was a conqueror if he couldn’t indulge in his victories?

With his right palm Sylvain rubbed the marks of pink lipstick running from his jaw line down to his collar bone. He could still smell the faint perfume of Vanessa, or was she Pamela, although she certainly looked like an Isabella with her thin lips, delicate nose, prominent cheekbones and sad sunk eyes, but he could be wrong, as his night being good meant no sad looking girls. Then again, only wretches seek, foolishly, tender and lasting love throwing themselves at the arms of another wretch. And who was Sylvain but a disgusting, unfortunate, miserable wretch?

But the night was fun…

The streets at night were far different from their daytime versions, as the sunlight concealed many behaviours, while the dark and shadows let them loose, Sylvain walked pass many known faces, or faces that recognize him alas he couldn’t remember half of them. The male and female conquests only lived in Sylvain’s present moments, when the moment was gone, the enchantment broke and all those names, faces and bodies were once again strange to him, as Sylvain preferred to _pluck the freshly bloom flowers_ like his brother, Miklan, had once told him when he was younger and the other alive.

Remembering Miklan had given Sylvain a terrible mouth taste, his mood ruined, his night ruined. He found himself heading back to his quarters. Memories of old came back, against Sylvain’s will.

Sylvain was only a new born when his crest was discovered by the ancient methods the nobles new so well, his brother was already bitter for child of only 5 years. Miklan had his place in the family snatched by that little all sunshine younger brother of his, he was desperate and then the devastating day came, Miklan’s fate was sealed, he had run out of luck long before this moment, he knew. In a cold and practical letter, Margrave Gautier informed his elder son about the decision everyone already knew, but also about how, as the disgrace Miklan represented to the family, he was expected from now on, to live on the shadows, never to show himself to the rest of the world, his own family included. Such were the crude guidelines the Gautiers ruled themselves by.

It was rare the times Sylvain encountered his brother around the manor, his father didn’t mince the words when he explained to young Sylvain his brother’s fate. Alas, Sylvie was far too young at six, to fully grasp all the implications of him bearing the Gautier crest. He was never his parents’ favourite, as the couple were equally cold and distant, but he was always treated with far much respect from the house staff almost with as much reverence as his father. That was the thing, everyone showed him too much respect and no one dared to approach him, only his friends Felix, Ingrid and Prince Dimitri, but their visits were few compared to the long days he had to endure all alone. The only other exception was his brother Miklan.

So the boy who everyone built up walls around to was always looking for that older elusive brother who lurked in the shadows, Miklan was the only one from the Gautier estate who interacted with him, he’ll talk to Sylvain, taught him to climb trees, spare with him, call him Sylvie and give him love advice even if Sylvain was too young for that.

Some time after his father announced he’ll find him a suitable wife among the Kingdom nobility maidens, Sylvain found his brother at the back of the stables smirking.

“Now you are the owner of the flower field,” Miklan mocked with a reverence “or will you be the prized flower everyone longs to pluck, which will you be little Sylvie?”

Sylvain was 11.

And that was the issue with Miklan, even if Sylvain tried time and time again to find his good side, Miklan was always ready to bounce and hurt him in any possible manner, the way Miklan would push him when they played, or verbally harass him, leave him outside during the harsh Faerghus winters, or that time when he pushed Sylvain down a well. Miklan was ready to abuse him for the simple reason that he lacked a crest while Sylvain was lucky enough to have one.

As Sylvain grew older, Miklan’s abuse grew wider, he became rebellious to the point that the Margrave deem his own son a threat to the Gautier bloodline and ousted him from the Gautier lands. Miklan’s last words to his younger brother before becoming an outcast were bitter, resentful, hateful “Little Sylvie, you don’t know the value of your crest and I’ll make you pay for that, I’ll make you feel the same miserable way of when I lost all that was mine! I’ll come back to collect the debt.”

At seventeen Sylvain drowned in Miklan’s parting words, they sunk in like death weight, he had learned to love that brother who could be mostly bitter but also caring at times and who now had abandon him in that big silent mansion, all his responsibilities piling up on him. He had been left aside, the thought was selfish considering all his friends where facing the traumatic consequences the Tragedy of Duscur. Dimitri’s dad, the King was dead, so was Glenn, Felix’s cherished older brother and Ingrid’s fiancée, the whole Kingdom was in chaos, nobles trying to seize power, mass murdering of innocent lives, traitors being slayed without trial, and here was one egocentric teenager, suffering from having responsibilities, feeling too much of a burden for anyone to being able of speaking of his ailments. Miklan was right, Sylvain was selfish.

That last thought in mind, Sylvain’s foot reached the last step of the staircase, immediately was Ingrid’s door. Sylvain tiptoe pass his friend’s door, he was aware of how much Ingrid cared for him, he had learned to put on a smile, conjuring courage up an attempt to brighten her days up, ease the pain of her lost, it was his only way to be useful.

After a long walk down the dorms’ corridor, he made a halt at Felix’s room. Oh, how did Sylvain wished to tell him all that was eating him inside, Felix was probably the closest friend and still, Sylvain felt too much of a nuisance when Felix was having it much worst, Glenn was gone and now so was Lord Rodrigue. Sylvain heard the faint sobbing at the other side of the door, Felix would never admit it, but he had a loving heart that was easy to hurt when exposed. Sylvain wouldn’t dare to taint that pure heart with his dirty _everything_ and kept walking.

Dimitri’s room was empty, it usually was. The prince had taken the worst possible turn out of them all, but with Rodrigue’s sacrifice, he was finally coming back to his senses. Sylvain heavily sighed pressing forward.

The first thing that caught his eye inside his room had always been the pulsating red glow the Lance of Ruin emitted, it was unnerving, it was inviting dark thoughts to plague his tired mind, he could almost feel them, he could almost wish for them to come true. His eyes glued far too long on the Gautier Relic, Miklan’s hurtful words choking his mind “I lost everything because of you”, “You are to blame, Sylvain”.

Sylvain almost reached out for the dreadful weapon, but the thought of having to face Miklan in hell snapped him out of the trance. Instead, he closed his eyes with all the might he could muster, and dragged this aching body to bed, he tosses his boots aside before climbing into his bed, curling up in a ball, his chests aches, it is the breathing that causes him pain, his amber eyes water up, he blinks away the tears not allowing himself to cry and bites his lower lip.

All he can do is hug himself and stare into the wall, “Maybe it would have been best if I-“


End file.
